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lovesick-panmess · 3 years

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Protect Them

Soo I know I'm way overdue with the 3rd part of my Armageddon AU but I've actually been replaying the lessons so I get a proper feel for what I'm writing, so to make up for it and to get this idea out of my head I've been thinking about it for days here is a related fic between the oldest brothers

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Levi can count on one hand how many times he's seen Lucifer coming home injured. The Avatar of Pride could easily crush irrelevant demons with his glare and he proved worthy of Diavalo's right-hand man for a reason... But the first time that Levi remembers was on a travel mission with Lord Diavalo within a year after their fall from grace. It was a distant memory, seeing Lucifer stumble up the stairs blooded up and adamantly refusing care from any of them, even Mammon who was following behind his every footstep. He had gotten used to such behavior and just settled for turning up his headphones on his way to the safe haven that was his room, stopping when he noticed the eldest's door cracked open. He watched Mammon gingerly wrap the bandage around his shoulder, blinking back tears in his eyes and shaking his head vehemently as Lucifer spoke. The music was loud and distracting he just settled for reading their lips-

"Mammon I need you to do this for me.."

"I won't! There's no need, ya just paranoid-!"

Watching the tears well up made Levi shift, uncomfortable and jealous, wondering what bond allowed them to be so vulnerable so open. Hadn't they all fought their father together? Rallied behind him so readily behind Lucifer, their Morningstar that only shined a light that only Mammon was allowed to see. He lingered before continuing to walk down the hall, to dwell in his own sunken loneliness but hearing Mammon speak one more time before the door had shut.

"..I'll do it, alright? Just stop ya crying, Luci.."

He had felt the deja vu of that very moment playing out in front of him, though this time he was hiding from Mammon in his secret spot in the living room. They had planned to go to the movies in an hour and Levi knew that Mammon would try to find him to convince him to pay for the tickets yet again so he decided to wait out the time so that scumbag would have to bring his wallet. It was a surprise to see the door open, everyone else is out and Lucifer's return to be scheduled for a few more days, but instead, the eldest had come early with visible wounds and beatings. Levi felt frozen, debating on whether he should slip out to help or stay putt but once again Mammon comes down the stairs like it's his calling. "Lucifer? Let me help you!" Denial was the first given reaction, the eldest's heart too hard and stubborn to ask for help before collapsing into Mammon's arms.

Levi followed with anxiety brewing in his chest, now wanting to just hide away in his room since plans were clearly on hold and he could do nothing to help the pair. Not like they would want his help, a shitty pathetic otaku wasn't much good at bandaging wounds, not like he was able to get much practice like Mammon did. Jealousy seethed, it made his heart race as he hid to the side of the door at the mention of his name.

"We have to tell him, Mams."

"We don't have to tell him shit! It's fine like this...Levi doesn't have to be involved."

It was confusing to be thrown out of the loop, but it hurt to hear Mammon so effortlessly fight to not include him. Maybe the second-born felt that Levi wasn't worth it? Too weak and unable to do..whatever it is they are arguing about, even so, it was odd-looking into Lucifer's room. Mammon unafraid of the eldest's temper and even being so bold as to glare at him while cleaning his cuts, Lucifer had an expression of utter fondness that was intertwined with an unlabeled fear, one that only he seemed to see.

"Mammon, you know it takes a lot out of me to..admit this. I'm almost jealous that you're able to view me so..."

Shit shit shit, he had been so entrapped in their conversation and his own envy he hadn't realized that it was emitting throughout the hall. He stiffens when Lucifer calls his name, slipping out from where he was hiding and now embarrassed. "Levi..come here please." He notes that Mammon refuses to look at him, biting his bottom lip hard as he sits next to his brother, so not used to this soft tone from him. He really must have stepped into a completely different world, one where Lucifer is willing to fight tooth and nail with his own pride in order to tell them the truth. And what a horrid truth it must be.

"Lucifer what's going on? Why is Mammon..." He trails off, feeling Lucifer's hand skim through his hair, and despite his own embarrassment leaned into the comforting touch and suddenly the bottle of Demonus was looking very tempting. "Levi...I would like to involve you in something very important, in order to protect the others." Lucifer's words were slow, each one taking some kind of will to overcome his pride, his wings twitching in what Levi could easily place as anxiety and one he knew way too well. "I'm not allowed to say anything about the threat outside of the Devildom but it puts us at risk and I...There may be a chance I won't come back."

His stomach drops, he doesn't realize that he's shaking until he feels Mammon's arms wrapping around his shoulder, shaking his head in pure denial. Not Lucifer, the most powerful one of them all, their eldest brother not coming back. Such thoughts were unfathomable to even believe, much less considered as a probability to the point that they had to talk about it. Acknowledge it and take action, Lucifer keeps talking and Mammon presses Levi closer to his chest, "I talked this with Mammon since the beginning but now we believe it's time to tell you in case something were ever to happen to the both of us and you would decide when to tell Satan..."

The prospect of such responsibility makes Levi feel like a fish out of water as he gulps for air yet in that same breath go on a rampage of self-deprecation and drowning doubt. How he's not ready, he's a good-for-nothing shitty pathetic otaku, he can't protect his brothers, he's weak, he's nothing, if Lucifer and Mammon are gone then there would be no fucking hope for them. The two oldest look at each other, small bits of regret building up from the pressure and burden they had put on him, Mammon gently rubbing his back and Lucifer cupping his face. "Leviathan please breathe."

His body does it automatically before he can think about it, the air in his lungs felt like boiling water as the panic slowly dissipates in his chest. All that was left was his own soft mutterings, so sure that Lucifer was probably disappointed that he has to trust in Levi of all people to protect them, he leans against Mammon who nudges him affectionately before resting his head on his shoulder. "I...I haven't really done anything good since...I was General...how can you be so sure in me?" He asks but squirms unready for whatever the answer might be, though he's unable to mistake Lucifer's radiating pride that he feels.

"Who's the one who came up with the plan on where to steal the weapons in the Celestial Realm?"

"M-Me but I-"

"And who helped convince the others to lay low while we defended the base?"

"I did but Luci-"

"Who's the one who took an arrow for Mammon while he was trying to protect me?"

"Lucifer-!"

He gets cut off with a flick on his forehead, his lips set in a pout but meeting the Morningstar's expression that made butterflies bloom in his stomach from overwhelming pride had him turn away and looking down at the floor. "Levi, get out of your head for one second and look at how smart and tactical you are. When it matters...when there is no time to panic. You're the third strongest family for a fucking reason, you should start believing it." The unusual confidence makes him flush but it's really Lucifer's words that bring the tears, no longer from fear but slowly coming to the realization that Lucifer and Mammon too had faith in him...they always did.

"Do ya still wanna join the pact? If ya wanna think about it, ya still can Levi." He blinks at the fact that Mammon had really been silent this whole time and just hugging him, the second born now getting up to tighten the remaining bandages. "Did you think about it, Mammon?" Levi knew the answer in his gut, only the blind would question the unwavering devotion that Mammon and Lucifer had for each other, only further cemented as the Avatar of greed simply shakes his head. He feels a small smile form on his face, "Then I don't need to think about it...I want to do this."

By the next few hours, any of the remaining tension and somber feelings had slipped away, replaced by a calm atmosphere that usually would not last long in the House of Lamentation. The melody of the cursed record floated and hung in the air as Levi rested on the floor in his demon form, the pact officially made and learning about the secret doorway by Lucifer's bookcase, definitely locking that information into memory. He sees Mammon grinning above him, curiosity embedded in his features, "So where'd ya decide to put the pact mark?" Levi lifts his sweater, the symbol of the three still glow fresh on the side by his ribs, and Mammon hissing with empathy.

He wanted it to hurt weirdly enough, to serve as a forever reminder that this pain was temporary but the pain of losing his brothers would surely last till the end of time. Mammon shows the mark on his hand, Lucifer clicks his tongue in disapproval as someone might ask about the pact but the second brother waves his concern away. He enjoys looking at the pact, the constant reassurance that they would be okay when the word goes to absolute shit, and Lucifer couldn't find any argument against that. They both look at the eldest who crosses his arms with a sharp, "No-" before puppy eyes come into play and Lucifer's pride can not save him from that.

What they both don't expect is for Lucifer to turn around and spread his wings out as if to show off, but then they see it. The markings trailing up his spine and next to the scars of where his two wings used to be, Levi is the first to reach up and touch it, internally blaming the remnants of Lucifer's pride that is making him so bold. He sees his hand tremble but luckily he is able to hold his voice steady, "Just because we made this pact..doesn't mean you both get to just fuck up. Y-You both should always come home." Lucifer nods, Mammon kisses his cheek and Levi struggles to hide his tears.

When Levithan leaves the room while closing the door behind him, reality, as he knew it just a few hours ago, wasn't all that different and he can hear Asmo drunkenly cheering as Satan carries him through the door. "Hey, Levi! Don't hide in your room- you better come join us." He doesn't give his thoughts a chance, heading down the stairs with a small smile. The world hadn't changed, but Levi would be forever.

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AHHH THIS HAS BEEN SITTING THE DRAFTS FOREVER I'M SO GLAD I FINISHED IT. Please please let me know if I should make an explanation post of how the pacts would work (it will most likely be headcanons cause I don't know how they work in canon 😪😪)

either way, I really hope you enjoyed the fic as I did writing it! I'm still working on the next part for the Armageddon AU so bear with me 😭

#obey me #angst #lucifer angst #mammon and lucifer #obey me angst #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me shall we date?#obey me leviathan #levi angst #mammon and levi #mammon angst #Lucifer angst #armageddonau

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haloshornsinkstains · 4 years

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Compassion [Obey Me!]

This is a bit older and I don’t love it but I feel bad not posting anything. Kind of a spiritual sequel to Acceptance (which is on Ao3). Trigger warning for Self Harm, it’s mentioned and is kind of the focus of this though there’s nothing too explicit, but be careful. Written way before I got to Lesson 16.

Belphie, I know your D.D.D doesn’t work in the human realm But I wanted to talk to you You know that human I said we were staying with, the one I said you’d probably get along with? She’s really nice. She held my hand so I wouldn’t have nightmares, y’know? But... ...I think she has nightmares too. The other night I woke up to get something to eat and she was shaking and crying in her sleep. And her arm looked hurt. I don’t know whether to ask her about it or not. I wish you were here to talk to for real.

Beel closed the chat app on his D.D.D and sighed, glancing over at his bed where she’d been sleeping. He didn’t know what to do, he was sure he’d seen scars on her arm and she’d seemed so distressed in her sleep, but in the morning she was back to her normal cheerful self. She’d even given him some of her breakfast. He liked her smile, he wanted it to stay. “Maybe I should ask her about it?” He muttered, automatically reaching under the couch for a snack. “But then again, it might be something she doesn’t want to talk about.” He really wished Belphie was here, he didn’t like humans much, but he might know what to do. Maybe one of the others would know? Was it right to ask them though? It seemed like it might be something personal. A loud knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Yo, Beel. Ya coming to school or not?” Grabbing a snack for the journey and shoving it in his bag Beel pushed himself off the couch and went to meet Mammon at the door. Seeing him stood there alone he frowned. “Where’s Kore?” “Left already. Lucifer dragged her.” “Oh.” Mammon shrugged. “I dunno what she did, he didn’t look mad but…” Beelzebub nodded. “We’ll see her there.”

Neither of them saw Kore until lunch, though the way they’d reacted on seeing her sat alone at one of the tables in the canteen she wondered if she’d been stuck in some sort of time slip and it had been days. “Kore!” “You’re alive!” She blinked, looking between the two demons with a frown. “It’s still Wednesday right? I haven’t lost a few days?” “Well when Lucifer dragged you off I thought he might have killed you.” Mammon frowned. “What’cha do this time?” “He wouldn’t have killed me dummy, I’m very important to Lord Diavolo’s exchange plan. Can’t go messing that up.” She grinned, shaking her head to hide the fact the smile was nowhere close to reaching her eyes. “He just wanted to talk, I’m not in trouble yet today.” Mammon snorted a laugh but Beel was still frowning at her, worry etched across his features. Kore reached out, gently resting a hand on his. “I won’t get in any trouble, promise. Though if you don’t hurry up and start eating your lunch I’m going to steal it.” She offered him a smile, gently nudging the plate. Nodding the orange haired demon finally started to eat and Kore smiled, lifting her own sandwich to her mouth. As long as the others were happy she could pretend everything was fine, that she hadn’t spent over an hour this morning being lectured about the importance of her safety to the exchange programme even if that safety was from herself. She told herself it came from a place of caring, but sometimes it was hard to see. He might have something of a well hidden soft spot for her, but the way Lucifer insisted on treating her as if her only importance came from her ability to progress Lord Diavolo’s plans, as if she were little more than a tool to him… at times it stung more than she’d like to admit. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Course she is Beel, she’s got us, she’s better than okay!” Mammon huffs, almost offended. “Who wouldn’t be okay when they’ve got the Great Mammon as a protector?” Kore rolls her eyes, but she offers Beel a soft smile and a nod. “I’m… I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she shrugs it off as the bell rings to signal the end of lunch and the beginning of the afternoon classes.

It’s much later in the day when Lucifer hears a knock at his door. His brothers mostly know better than to disturb him when he��s working, and the only other person likely to want to see him was, last he saw her, being dragged away into some kind of anime marathon with Leviathan. “Yes?” The door opens to reveal a frowning Beel, and he closes it firmly behind him once he’s entered the room. Lucifer tries to maintain his indifferent, slightly annoyed expression, but there’s worry on his brother’s face that throws him off slightly. “Has something happened.” Beel starts to shake his head but stops halfway and turns it into what ends up looking like a strange nod. “It’s Kore.” Lucifer frowns. “What has she done now?” “She hasn’t done anything. She just…” he sighed “she seems sad. And. And I think she’s hurt? Her arm was...” Lucifer cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I have spoken with her on the matter, she is aware that her personal safety is imperative to the success of the programme.” Beel bristled. “That’s how you phrased it?!” “Of course.” He returned his attention to the papers on his desk. “There’s little point in coddling her.” “Then you know how…” Lucifer cut him off with a stern glare. “I would suggest you ask her rather than take up any more of my time. Now, if you’re quite finished.” The younger demon paused, watching for a few seconds as Lucifer fully returned his attention to his paperwork, clearly done with this conversation regardless of his brother's feelings on the matter. Still frowning Beelzebub turned and left, making a beeline for the kitchen to find something to soothe his tumultuous feelings.

It was late by the time Kore made it back to their room, Levi had kept her there until they’d finished the entire series because “it’s not right to stop half way through!” and she was already yawning by the time she got through the door. What Kore hadn’t expected was for Beel to be waiting for her, the crease of a frown between his brows. “Beel? You okay?” She walked straight to him, her own forehead creasing with concern as she reached out to set a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not used to seeing you frowning like this big guy.” “I spoke to Lucifer.” She sucked in a breath, gently pulling back her hand only to find her wrist caught in a gentle if immoveable grip. “I… I know you got hurt.” He watched her eyes widen slightly, but she didn’t try to pull away. “He wouldn’t tell me how, but, you seem sad. And you’ve been having nightmares too...” Her face crumpled a little and she took a step forwards, wrapping her arms around him. “Oh Beel, I’m sorry.” He caught her, pressing her against his warmth with a huff. “If someone hurt you then you should tell us.” Kore pressed her face into his shoulder, shaking her head slightly. “No one hurt me Beel, I’m sorry.” “But…” She cut him off, shaking her head again. “They’re mostly old scars, no one here in Devildom hurt me I promise.” The words were slightly muffled by his shoulder and he pulled her back, making her look at him, his face full of such concern it made her breath catch in her throat. “Was it someone in the human realm?” She swallowed hard, she couldn’t lie to that face. And somehow it felt wrong that he didn’t know, not when Mammon and Levi knew now. They did have a pact, it would be rude to hide from him, she reasoned to herself, though more to give herself the courage to say the words than anything else. “It was me.” Her voice felt so small when she spoke, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “I get sad and…” This time it was Beel who cut her off, pulling her back into him and resting his chin on top of her head. “Don’t be sad Kore.” “I’ll do my best.” She heard him sigh, holding her a little closer. “You need to stay around to meet Belphie when he comes back, I think he’d like you.”

#my writing #obey me #beelzebub #lucifer #mammon #named oc #self harm #halo.writes

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geek-patient-zero · 5 years

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Part 1, Chapter 12

Or: War and Humility

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Trilogy Volume 1

We’ve reached the penultimate chapter of Part 1, and the last Dire McCann chapter until Part 3.

St. Louis—March 13, 1994

The Prince held his council of war in his office at the rear of Club Diabolique. Attending were Vargoss, Flavia, McCann, a ninth-generation Brujah named Darrow, and an eighth-generation Nosferatu known only as ‘Uglyface’ for obvious reasons.

“McCann, Flavia, the Sabbat have struck! This insult will not stand! Summon two other guys!”

Darrow is Vargoss’ policy adviser. He seems like your stereotypical Brujah; rides a Harley, black leather outfit, body covered in tattoos. In reality, we’re told, “Darrow was no rebel.”

He had spent most of his life serving as an officer in the British Army. He had participated in many of the major campaigns of the 19th century and was the veteran of a hundred battles. He was a calm voice of reason, not afraid to contradict the Prince when Vargoss was wrong.

He might not be a molotov-cocktail-throwing anarchist, but Darrow’s not that much of a subversion of Brujah Kindred. He’s what you’d imagine a Camarilla Brujah is like: the voice of reason and superego, not afraid to stand up to the authoritarian Ventrue or the “ooh, shiny!” Toreador. You ever wonder how the “rebel clan” fit in with the undead equivalent of The Man? There you go. ‘Course, as of v5, the Brujah have (violently) left the Camarilla, so the clan as a whole has its limits of how much of the Establishment they’re willing to take.

Uglyface, meanwhile, has the prestigious title of Minister of Intelligence to counter his less prestigious name.

No one in St. Louis knew much about Uglyface’s background.

“Uglyface” is a lazy and vague name to give a Nosferatu character. You ask around for a Nosferatu named Uglyface and you’ll be asked to be more specific. It’s like nicknaming a guy on a basketball team “Tallman” or a self-described gamer “Badperson”.

Nearly seven feet tall and thin as a rail, he had lived in the city longer than any vampire. His face came from a Gahan Wilson cartoon—wide, bulging eyes, tiny button nose, a wide mouth full of yellow teeth, and ears that stuck out like antennae from the sides of his head.

Gahan Wilson was a cartoonist who did work for Playboy, The New Yorker, and National Lampoon, among other things, for almost fifty years. Here’s his wiki page, for those interested.

Uglyface’s grotesque features branded him an idiot. He was not. The Nosferatu vampire possessed an incredible memory for names, dates, and facts. Like many of his clan, he thrived on gathering and processing raw data into usable information.

There’re Brujah who aren’t rebels, Gangrels who live in cities, and Ventrue who don’t automatically think they have the divine right of kings, but do you ever see a Nosferatu who isn’t a huge nerd?

“The Red Death struck three times in America last night,” said Vargoss, resting his arms on his desk. He was obviously concerned. Troubled eyes stared at the trio facing him. To the rear, on guard as always, was Flavia. She was no longer in white leather but in black. And for the first time i decades, she stood alone.

It’s rare for a vampire to wear black out of genuine mourning, rather than just to be evil and goth.

Vargoss continues on saying he’s received reports about more attacks in Europe; the one at the Louvre, where five Kindred were killed (the number of ghoul deaths aren’t mentioned because Kindred are huge assholes), and one we didn’t see in Marseilles, where two died during a Ventrue clan meeting. Not very large numbers there, but in total there had been six attacks over the last twenty-four hours with a total of thirty-five Kindred killed, or “sent to their Final Deaths” because vamps are overly semantic about being undead.

McCann notes how fast Red D.’s moving in order to kill that many vampires around the world in a single day. Darrow voices his and McCann’s shared suspicion: that there may be more than one Red Death. Only he says it more Britishy.

“Are we positive it is the same bloke?” [...] “That bloody mockery of a face of ‘is was awfully distinctive. Maybe it was meant to attract attention, aye? Any Kindred adept at sculpting flesh could rearrange his features into that grotesque mask. Instead of dealing with a single Red Death, we may be faced with several. Maybe an entire Sabbat pack made a pact with a demon.”

“Sculpting flesh” is referencing- No, wait, screw it. We’ve got a lot to cover and I don’t feel like going on a Tzimisce tangent. Guvna.

“Following that same line of reasoning, are you convinced the Red Death was a vampire?” asked McCann. The detective was anxious to establish certain facts he already knew as truth.

“Are Gangrels just Brujah furries? Are the Followers of Set really sexier than the Toreador? Do we really hate Scrappy Doo or are we just repeating a forty-year-old meme? Does anyone else miss dodgeball?”

“The abomination belonged to the Kindred,” said Vargoss, angrily. “My will touched his when I commanded him to stop.”

It’s only gay if the wills touch.

“Blood called out to blood, McCann. The Red Death was definitely one of the Damned.”

McCann plays dumb, asking if there are any disciplines capable of turning a vampire into a being composed of living fire.

“None practiced among the Camarilla,” said Uglyface. His high-pitched voice squeaked like a cartoon character’s.

Alright, Clan Nosferatu fans. You guys are all “Oh I’d fall in love with a Nosferatu, I don’t care what they look like” but what if they’re confessing their bestial love for you in a Mickey Mouse voice? How committed are you to this monster-fucker image of yourselves?

Vargoss believes Darrow’s right about the Red Death being from the Sabbat. He claims they’re “demon lovers” who “mock the power of the flames” and cites a ritual of theirs called, creatively, the Fire Dance as proof. That’s where Sabbat pack members prove their loyalty and bravery, or just to psych themselves up before a battle, by dancing around and eventually jumping through a bonfire (though Vargoss says it’s a funeral pyre) without flipping out and running away. Any similarities between this evil Sabbat ritual and certain real-life cultures’ rituals are unintentional on White Wolf’s part. Hopefully.

“Sorry,” said McCann, “but I don’t accept those kinds of deductions. I’m a detective, remember? Let’s use a bit of logic. Leaping over a fire like Jack-Be-Nimble is a lot different than burning your footprints into the floor.”

Turn the condescension down a bit there, hoss. You may be the Dark Messiah but you’re no Beckett.

Tacktlessness aside, McCann’s got a point and starts poking holes in the Red Death’s cover story. He says while he doesn’t discount the Sabbat being responsible he wonders why, during the Sabbat’s five-century-long war with the Camarilla, they’ve never busted out these Red Death attacks until now. Darrow again sides with McCann and gives us a rundown on Sabbat invasion tactics.

“These friggin’ attacks make no sense. Usually the Sabbat spends years organizing a Crusade to take over a city. We all knows the procedures. First they send in the spies. Then they place traitors into the Kindred council of elders. Next comes their efforts to expose the Masquerade through carefully planned acts of murder and terrorism. And then, during the resulting chaos, they attack in overwhelming numbers, exterminating any vampires they cannot convert to their cause. There’s no place for the Red Death in such plans.”

Uglyface suggests maybe they’ve finally came up with a new strategy, using the Red Death to wipe out a city’s Camarilla elders in one night instead of spending time and resources on a Crusade. McCann counters, saying that’s not what happened, at least in their case. Vargoss isn’t dead (and remember when McCann noticed the Red Death hesitate to kill Vargoss until the twins could save him?), the Sabbat aren’t invading, and while he killed a few Kindred, they were mostly later-generation, weaker vampires. Aside from trimming the population and scaring the bejeezus out of everyone, nothing’s changed.

With a “Bloody hell” Darrow says that they’re missing the most important question: Why did the Red Death attack a little nothing city like St. Louis in the first place?

“No offense, my Prince, but St. Louis ain’t a major Sabbat target. Leastwise, not according to our intelligence reports.”

Good save, Darrow.

“They have their eyes on bigger, more important cities.”

Way to blow the save, Darrow.

“What made us so bloody special we warranted the friggin’ attention of this fire monster?”

The Red Death needs access to Monsanto. He’s got this hilarious idea for a prank involving Roundup and cancer.

“No offense taken, Darrow,” said Vargoss. “I value your honesty more than any flattery. And your point is well presented.”

Vargoss may be a dick at times, but after Bloodlines and L.A. by Night, it’s nice to see a Camarilla Prince who has his shit together.

Vargoss had been discussing the matter with other Camarilla elders and as far as they can tell, St. Louis was the first stop in the Red Death’s rampage. The question is why? McCann suspects Red D. came for him, but obviously he’s not going to say that. Instead he fingers the late Tyrus Benedict. This prompts Vargoss to pull out a several-page-long fax from the Tremere HQ in Vienna, written by “Etrius himself.” McCann’s not only a magic man and a secret Methuselah, but he’s also “a student of Tremere history and organization,” so he recognizes the name. Etrius is the head of the Tremere Inner Council of Seven.

Etrius served as the guardian of the founder of the clan of undead wizards, the powerful sorcerer known as Tremere. The vampire himself lay dormant in torpor in a stone sarcophagus in the catacombs beneath Vienna. Strange rumors swirled about regarding the condition of Tremere’s body. Rumors that Etrius refused to confirm or deny.

Etrius is both an established character in Vampire: The Masquerade and a viewpoint character we’ll see in Chapter 8 of Part 2.

Etrius, who Vargoss calls “a cold, merciless bastard like all of his clan” (like a Ventrue should talk about other clans being jerks), didn’t care much about Benedict’s death but was interested in the Red Death and his fire powers.

“No bloody surprise, that,” said Darrow. Like most Kindred, he feared and distrusted the Tremere. Though they protested that they were loyal members of the Camarilla, everyone knew that the wizards worked for their own ends. And those plans they kept to themselves. “What those devils would give to wield a power like the Red Death! They’d probably burn us all off the map. And laugh at us for providing the information while they did it!”

Yep, everyone hates the Tremere. So much so that their clan weakness in Bloodlines 2 is going to be taking more damage from Kindred enemies. Other vampires hate them so much they’re inspired to punch a Tremere just a little harder in the face than usual.

Vargoss nodded. What small trust he had in the Tremere vanished when his closest advisor, Mosfair, turned on him a few months ago. Only McCann’s intervention had saved the Prince from the ultimate betrayal. The detective had never revealed that Mosfair had actually been acting as an agent for the Sabbat, not his own clan. McCann disliked alliances between the major Kindred bloodlines. And he worked very hard to prevent them from succeeding.”

Considering the two biggest Kindred sects are alliances between major bloodlines, somewhere along the way McCann fucked up big time. And so much for the Sabbat having no interest in St. Louis.

But as untrustworthy and scheming as the Tremere are, Vargoss reveals the fax dropped a bombshell on them. Benedict had visited to warn about the total blackout, the Shadow Curtain, of Kindred activity in Russia, and show Vargoss the photos of the Niktuku Baba Yaga the Tremere obtained. But Etrius says he was only sent to St. Louis to personally apologize for Mosfair’s actions and be all “the actions of this employee do not represent the views of the company.” Benedict didn’t have any documents on him about Baba Yaga or Russia.

The Prince paused, obviously enjoying the astonished looks on his advisors’ faces. Vargoss possessed a strong sense of the dramatic.

A vampire with a strong sense of the dramatic. Imagine.

Etrius also said that while Benedict got the basic facts right, no one the Tremere sent into Russia ever returned, with or without photos. He didn’t know about any photos or Baba Yaga’s Army of Night.

Darrow suggests the obvious, that the “slimy wizard” is lying, but Vargoss believed the fax. Its tone suggested Etrius was deeply disturbed by the news and asked Vargoss to give him every detail Benedict said about Baba Yaga.

“According to the ancient legends of my clan,” said Uglyface, “the Iron Hag was the greatest sorceress in the world. She was one of the Niktuku, monsters created by Absimiliard, the first Nosferatu, in his days of madness.”

Father Naples in the prologue described the Niktuku as fourth generation Nosferatu. The book generally goes with that description and so have I so far, but there’s another theory about them, possibly hinted by Uglyface here. Niktuku aren’t just fourth generation Nosferatu, or even uniformly fourth generation, but a separate “minor” bloodline altogether. Absimiliard thinks that if he wipes out his progeny, the modern Nosferatu, Caine will forgive him and lift his curse, and Absimiliard’ll get his good looks back. So he created the Niktuku to serve him and kill Nosferatu. There could be Niktuku with generations higher then four, but they’re all low generation and very old.

But it’s just a theory, another one of those things kept deliberately vague in the setting, being true or not depending on what the storyteller desires. What is known is that sometime in the late 90′s another Niktuku killed Baba Yaga and ended the Shadow Curtain. Right now though, in 1994, Baba Yaga’s alive and a problem.

“Her powers rivaled those of Lameth, the Dark Messiah.”

“It sounds like someone tampered with Benedict’s thoughts during his journey here from Vienna,” said McCann hurriedly. He was anxious to shift subjects again.”

“Yes, yes, she sounds like a powerful but clearly inferior rival to Lameth the Handsome, but if we can get back to Benedict-”

“Actually as a Cappodocian Child of Asshur Lameth would have looked like stale cheese. He was also an incompetent boob when it came to Jyhad. And fighting. A child with a jumprope could take him.”

“Who said- Um, ahem, that’s nice, Uglyface, but about Benedict-”

“Yes, good Noferatu, they also say Lameth’s attempts at Jyhad were to compensate for—how should I say this in polite company?—having a ‘blunt fang.’”

“...Interesting, my Prince, but back to-”

“Blunt fang’s just a fancy way of saying ‘is willy didn’t work, innit?”

“Indeed, his penis was impotent and also small.”

“OH COME ON!”

“No wonder the notion upsets Etrius. Messing with the mind of a wizard is no job for a lightweight.”

“Oh I wouldn’t go that far, McCann. Remember when Darrow told you having a hand bigger than your face meant you had cancer?”

“Yeah, and yeh put yer ‘and up in front of yer wizard mug and I made yeh slap yerself!”

“My Prince, Darrow, I’m clearly talking about brainwashing, not childish pranks.”

“Childish pranks yeh walked right into, guv’.”

“Yes, McCann, your affable buffoonishness reminds me very much of Lameth the Dark Mes-”

“Stay on topic stay on topic STAY ON TOPIC!”

“I asked Uglyface earlier to backtrack Benedict’s trip,” said Vargoss. The Prince shifted his attention to the Nosferatu. “What did you learn?”

Uglyface gives three important details; that Benedict used “unconventional” methods of transportation, that he arrived in Washington, D.C. three nights ago, and that he couldn’t get in contact with his usual Washington source, a friend named Amos. None of his messages were answered.

The second detail catches McCann’s attention. If Benedict arrived in D.C. three nights ago, and arrived just last night, it leaves one unaccounted for night where he could have been mind whammied. Vargoss brings up the Sabbat again, since they have their eye on conquering Washington. Darrow says that D.C.’s still a Camarilla stronghold, and the Tremere are powerful there. He namedrops some more established characters and explains some of their politics that he knows about for some reason.

“Peter Dorfman is Pontifex (high-ranking Tremere who answers directly to a member of the Council of Seven) there, and he is very ambitious. For all we know, Benedict may have received new instructions from a member of his own bloodline there. There’s a bitter rivalry between Dorfman and other Tremere elders. Meerlinda, leader of the U.S. branch of the clan, plays one against the other in order to maintain absolute control of the bloodline. In turn, she and Etrius both scheme to take charge of the entire clan. It’s a frigging bloody mess, and anything’s possible.”

If some Brujah in another city can figure out your plans, you’re not exactly a subtle schemer.

So the two leading theories among the group about what happened to Benedict are Sabbat brainwashing or inter-clan Tremere bullshit. But what, if anything, does any of that have to do with the Red Death? Whatever’s true, Vargoss decides that the only way to learn what the hell’s going on is to send someone to Washington and do some snooping.

All eyes focused on McCann. The detective laughed.

“Why do I get the impression I’ve been elected?”

Vargoss smiled. “You are the obvious choice, McCann.”

Along with this being McCann’s job and everything, he can also work during the day while the Kindred are sleeping and helpless, so that’s a plus.

“Yeah, and I have my mage powers to protect me,” said McCann. “Not that they would do much good if I stumble upon the Red Death.”

Yeah, what could a reality-shaping World of Darkness mage do to a vampire? Make him explode only a little?

“I assume you’re willing to pay well for this scouting expedition?”

Vargoss laughed. “What I like about you, McCann, is that you’re so pleasantly frank. After listening to lies and half-truths, it amuses me to hear real, honest greed.”

“Am I chopped liver or wot? I’m supposed to be the honest one.”

“Yes, Darrow, but you’re not honestly greedy.”

“I can be honestly greedy. I ‘ave needs.”

“I already pay you in beer.”

“American beer.”

It seems like the matter’s settled, but then Flavia, remembering that she became a real character back in Chapter 5, whispers something in Vargoss’ ear. He excuses himself and leaves the office with his bodyguard. The three still in the office play some gin rummy until Vargoss and Flavia quickly return.

“The plans have been altered slightly,” announced the Prince, taking his seat. Flavia returned to her position at his right. “You are still traveling to Washington, McCann. But you are not going alone. Flavia is going to accompany you.”

“What?” said the detective. “What?”

[live studio audience laughter]

“Flavia argues convincingly that a lone human, even a mage, cannot stand against the concentrated attack of a Sabbat pack.”

There’s a molotov cocktail of a statement if there ever was one.

“Especially if the Red Death is involved. Besides which, Flavia has contacts with the important Camarilla leaders of the city. I am forced to agree. She is right. You need protection and introductions. And she is the one Kindred who is capable of providing you with both. Darrow will take her place at my side during her absence.”

“In addition, the large amount of tourists Washington attracts each year makes it very likely that the only hotel room you will be able to secure will be one with a single bed. Flavia convincingly argues she must be there in such a situation, in order to provide both sitcom hilarity and sexual tension.”

“I work on my own,” said McCann, feeling trapped.

“Not in this case,” said Vargoss, in a voice which brooked no denial. At his side, Flavia’s lips twitched in the slightest of smiles. “Do not anger me, McCann. You will discover the truth about Tyrus Benedict. And Flavia will guard your back.”

“And you will provide me with inspiration for the fanfiction I am writing about the two of you.”

“As you command,” said McCann, bowing to the inevitable. “It should be an interesting trip.”

Flavia nodded. Sensuously she licked her upper lip with her tongue. McCann grimaced. She winked.

McCann dry heaved. She blew a kiss. McCann projectile vomited. She pelvic thrusted victoriously.

#vampire the masquerade #vampire: the masquerade #vtm #vtmb #world of darkness #blood war

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